


Blink

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: Something strange is happening to Spike and it is up to Buffy to save him. PG





	Blink

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Hils, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Death-Marked Love](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Death-Marked_Love). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Death-Marked Love collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/deathmarkedlove/profile).
> 
> Classification: S/B shipper
> 
> Rating: PG?
> 
> Spoilers: Spoilers for "Fool For Love," "Intervention," and general stuff. This is what might have happened a few weeks after "Intervention" if the next episodes hadn’t happened. I still haven’t seen "The Gift," so no spoilers there.
> 
> Disclaimer: Spike and Buffy belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, James, and Sarah.
> 
> Archive: Sure, just let me know.
> 
> Further: If you like this, check out my best X-Files story, "Knowing Eternity," at
> 
> http://www.avalon.net/~publius/AllMyRecs3.html

Dreamy green eyes warily met clear blue ones. He watched for a moment as she fidgeted, then he cleared his throat. He breathed her name, braced himself, and finally said, "I love you." She turned away, disbelieving.

Spike watched, tense and incredulous, as Scully turned from Mulder’s declaration. //Bloody women. They want so bad to hear it but then they don’t bloody well believe it when it’s spoken. You’re a *scientist*, Scully – what does your precious evidence tell you must be true in this case? Buffy doesn’t believe me when I tell her either . . . // In one quick boneless motion he reached out and snapped the TV off with strong fingers. A spark of electricity leapt from the set to him, and as he stood a wave of dizziness suddenly assaulted him. He tried to shrug it off by holding still for a moment and then stretching his lean form. It didn’t work, though; he landed on the floor in an unconscious heap.

He lay there for nearly twelve hours. The corner of the crypt door connected solidly with his head as Buffy slammed it open, peering inside for Spike. She saw his lithe figure stretched out on the stone floor and immediately tensed. If he wasn’t "playing dead" in order to lull her into a false sense of security (a small part of her brain scolded her again about watching Inspector Clouseau movies with Giles), then there was, or had been, something in the crypt powerful enough to knock Spike out. The slayer scanned the room quickly, and then finally stepped out of her fighting stance to examine the fallen vampire. She realized she must have hit his head with the door, and crouching beside him, pulled him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She turned to put him on the tomb-bed and laid him down gently. Ever since she had seen the damage Glory had done to him (which hadn’t knocked him unconscious like this attack, a small voice inside her head piped up), she had wanted to be gentle, more careful with him; she treated him as almost precious. Buffy looked at his face, expecting to see bruises and gashes, a split lip, a black eye, any sign of damage, but found none. She pulled him carefully into a seated position while she perched at his side. She tilted his head forward, cradling it in the hollow of her neck, so that she could check the back of his skull for trauma. She started to thread her fingertips through his hair and stopped abruptly. His hair was soft and wavy, little curls apparent everywhere; his hair gel was gone. Buffy panicked, trying to remember if she’d seen Spike’s hair in disarray any time other than when Glory had used him as her whipping boy. She couldn’t think of a single time. With his hair slicked back, he looked like a predator, like a large jungle cat, beautiful and deadly; without the gel, he looked disturbingly vulnerable, nearly childlike.

While she was considering what the state of his hair meant, Buffy felt Spike cross back into consciousness; his body resumed its normal hum of energy, reminding her of the blue fire of electricity. And then she felt something else entirely.

Right at that sweet spot where her cheek turned to jaw and jaw turned into throat, Buffy felt something – fantastically gentle and unutterably delicate – softly brush against her. She held herself completely still until she felt it again, and then she started to push him gently into an independent seated position. His eyes were finally open, bluer than any electric spark, and she saw a smile and a kiss in their depths. She opened her mouth to ask what had happened, and he opened his to greet her; seeing the other ready to speak, each paused, and then without warning Spike’s eyes rolled up and back, and a single drop of blood appeared in the middle of his forehead, hovered, and fell.

* * * * * * * * *

At the sight of Spike bleeding slowly and steadily through unbroken skin, Buffy’s mind seemed to split in two. One half of her started screaming //It’s like reverse Chinese water torture!// while the other half simply blubbered and panicked. //Can he bleed to death like this? Duh, Buffy, he’s already dead. If he’s so dead then how come I can tell when he’s unconscious? I shouldn’t be able to differentiate sleep from passed out. I shouldn’t be able to tell what he’s thinking and feeling from looking in his eyes.// She looked at his eyes again, and saw them blink and flutter rapidly; he was clearly struggling with something, but whether he was trying to keep his eyes open or whether he was fighting to close them for good she couldn’t tell. //Buff, get a grip. He’s a vampire – his death can only occur if he’s dusted, or if he burns. Stop wondering what happened and go fix it.// She breathed in the cool still air of the crypt and then ran all the way to the Magic Box.

* * * * * * * * *

"Buffy! Where have you been? We were supposed to begin training half an hour ago! . . . Is - is everything all right?" Giles saw her trembling not from the run but from fear, and he felt his own adrenaline kick in. "Is it Glory? Is she back from wherever she’s been? We didn’t hear any alarms, but . . ." "No," she cut in hastily, "it’s not Glory, it’s Spike." Giles swallowed, thinking only of the chip that held the vampire back, "Good or bad?" Buffy had barely spit out "Bad" before the Watcher had a stake in his hand and a grim look on his face. She caught him at the door and swung him around sharply. "Giles! What are you doing? Spike’s hurt bad and you want to stake him *now*? We have to help him!" She faltered a bit under her Watcher’s steely gaze and mumbled, "I owe him one." She watched him relax, limb by limb, and finally relinquish the stake. "I’m sorry. I thought you were saying that that bloody chip was out." "No . . . " she began //Could that be it? No, there was no scar on the back of his skull . . . was there?// "No, but what, Buffy?" Giles asked uncomfortably as the slayer dropped her eyes and blushed slightly. She barely heard his question, consumed by her own thoughts. //Not a very thorough check, was it, Buffy? You were too busy enjoying the feel of his hair, the sweep of his lashes against your throat, to make sure – completely sure – that he wasn’t concussed, or worse.// "No," she began again, her panic rising once more, "the chip isn’t out. I found him unconscious, and then as soon as he regained consciousness, he began bleeding from the forehead." "Buffy, how can that be? Are you sure you observed this accurately? If his temple was gashed, he’d be bleeding no matter what – whether he was conscious or not." "Giles, I know what I saw, and he wasn’t cut. As soon as he came out of passed-out land, he started bleeding but the skin was unbroken. Maybe it’s a spell? Does magic work on vamps?" "You know it does, Buffy, hence Spike’s own request for love spells, remember? Still, this doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard of. I suppose we should begin researching." "Where’s Willow?" "She’s in class, but she said to tell you that she had good news." "Then the rest of you will hit the books and wait for her to walk in that door. I’m going back to Spike."

She went to the back room and saw Tara and Dawn talking, trying hard to ignore Anya, sitting on Xander’s lap and kissing him repeatedly. Worried as she was, Buffy smiled, knowing that the four had stayed together in one room solely to give Dawn as much protection as possible. She broke in, interrupting conversation and make-out session with her words: "Spike’s hurt bad. We need to figure out how to stop it." She turned on her heel, aware that they were filing out of the room behind her. Giles was already seated at the main table, stacks of books surrounding him. Buffy addressed the whole group quickly, with a sense of urgency. "Giles will fill you in on the gory details. I’m heading over to the crypt to keep an eye on Spike." She pivoted, only to find two huge blue eyes, at once pleading and defiant, staring levelly at her. "I’m coming with you," Dawn informed her sister. "He’s my best friend, and I should be allowed to help." Buffy smiled and looked her sister right in the eyes, reassuring her that she spoke only the truth. "Dawn, the best way you can help him is to stay here and figure out what’s wrong with him. I have to be the one to go because if whatever cast this spell shows up I’m the only one strong enough to fight it." Dawn nodded briefly, but not before a tear fell from her eye.

* * * * * * * * *

Buffy could smell blood as she walked back into the crypt. She saw Spike still in the same position, sitting Indian-style with his forearms resting lightly on his knees, spine at an angle and head jutting out, so that the blood that dripped slowly from his forehead created a puddle in front of his crossed legs. //How can he lose that much blood? And . . . why hasn’t he vamped out?// She saw that his eyes were still fluttering, and she spoke, hoping to rouse him from his trance-like state. "Spike . . ." At the sound of her voice speaking his name, Spike’s body went rigid, and the blood dripped faster than before.

* * * * * * * * *

Spike knew Buffy had been there. He remembered her small, capable hands on his shoulders, easing his weight off of her body, looking up at him in concern. Whether it was anxiety for him or worry that something big and nasty was on the prowl in Sunnydale he hadn’t had a chance to ask. He had felt something pulling him away from that moment, and he became unnaturally aware of the blood oozing steadily from his forehead.

He suddenly saw himself as he had once been: courtly, shy, deferential. All of that had vanished, but his turning had left many of his other qualities intact – his independence, his determination to pursue what he wanted, his tendency to throw himself whole-heartedly into every new endeavor. Most vamps were like that, he supposed; part of them remained, perhaps even stronger, while the rest was simply purged away by the taste of blood, hot and dark and tingling. But Spike was fundamentally different; he had been thinking words of love when he was turned.

* * * * * * * * *

[London, 1880] Perhaps William’s evasion had been truer than he’d intended. When she’d faltered out, "Your poetry, it’s . . . they’re not written about me, are they?" he had immediately responded, "They’re about how I feel." He’d thought he was being careful of her, but in truth, he hadn’t really loved Cecily; he’d been in love with love, the rush he got when he imagined committing himself, body and soul, to another, as flawed and lovely and vulnerable as he. Cecily’s brutal rejection had hurt, but even as he tore up his treasured words he knew that anyone who lived and loved by class lines was not the girl he longed to be with. She wouldn’t have been able to take it, his enormous capacity for love. William knew he had it and that it would mean something to someone one day; his mother, an ardent spiritualist and medium, had assured him that his existence would span many worlds, and that his heart would one day be filled by a girl with the same largeness of spirit. He was still musing on this when he became aware of the dark-haired girl in front of him. He stared in fascination at her nearly translucent skin and her tip-tilted violet eyes. //Is this the girl, Mum?// She began, abruptly to speak: " . . . you walk in worlds the others can’t begin to imagine . . ." When he heard those words, his doubts and swirling emotions suddenly became clear. This girl was not his true beloved, but rather a guide, a means of passing into the new worlds both she and his mother had spoken of. And as she bit into him, and as he suckled at her blood, the thought stayed strong in his head: //Wait for me, love. I shall be to my beloved as my beloved will be to me. I will find you.//

* * * * * * * * *

He was not a good vampire. He was, however, a masterful actor, something that rather surprised him. //Maybe it’s not that I’m such a great actor. Maybe it’s that the audience pays me no bloody mind.// After Drusilla had vamped him, she’d taken him, shivering like a baby bird, back to her sire and grandam. Neither had been pleased by her acquisition, and William had been forced to jump through more than a few hoops. They wanted him remorseless, and so he showed no emotion as he bit into his first kill. Blood flooded his throat even as the man’s last thoughts and emotions broke into his mind. There was fear, of course, overwhelming fear, but behind that was ambition and a determination to restore honor to his family name, stained by his father’s shady dealings. And then, suddenly, the blood was gone; the man was completely drained. Darla, leaning in the crook of Angelus’s arm, began the questioning. "Well, William? Are you satisfied?" "Yes," William intoned. His belly was indeed rather pleasantly full; it was his mind that was anything but stable. "Isn’t that taste – the fear – intoxicating?" asked Angelus, leaning forward with a menacing smile. "Fear, yes," William parroted back, then noticed the other three turning away, not needing to hear any more. He didn’t mention the other feelings he had tasted.

* * * * * * * * *

It wasn’t until his third kill that he tasted love. As he sank his fangs into the man’s neck, there was terror in the blood, but there was also love. //Amelia, my dearest one, goodbye. I love you always.// William’s eyes finally saw the wedding band on the man’s finger, and he dropped him, but for Samuel Thorne, it was simply too late. //I will not destroy love// William promised himself, knowing it was a lie. He had to destroy in order to continue his own new existence, and he knew that nearly any victim he chose would be either the giver or recipient of some kind of love. //If I must destroy, I will also do my best to keep the balance. I will love, keep some right in my world.// That night was the first night he went to Drusilla for anything more than a sire’s comfort. He gave her love.

* * * * * * * * *

William watched his three companions as they went in for a kill, hearing their unguarded thoughts as they bit deeply into smooth flesh. Darla and Angelus, he realized, could taste nothing except the fear. That was all they were seeking, and that was all they found. He turned hopefully to Drusilla, his Princess, the creature he loved despite her broken mind and erratic ways. She swallowed, her eyes slipping shut, her concentration on the blood giving her thoughts unaccustomed focus. //Oh, it is fear that I drink. Fear, fear, fear . . .// her mind chanted. William knew then that he was alone, that he walked in worlds even these others couldn’t begin to imagine.

* * * * * * * * *

It wasn’t until his ninth kill that it truly hit him. Biting deeply into the girl’s skin, lightly dusted with golden freckles, he tasted fear and, once again, love. //Oh, William, I love you so.// He lost his game face, and felt himself spinning out of control. She wasn’t talking to him, he knew that; it was a common enough name. She loved some other William, so much that he had been her last thought. He disregarded her terror, knowing that it was so visceral it was nearly an involuntary reaction, like blinking or breathing or the beating of a heart. It was her love he focused on, and the thought of what he was living without that captured his attention. Despite his knowledge that Dru was not the girl for him, he was trying to love her, even as she divided her time between him and Angelus. Now this girl, Sarah, with her love for her William, showed him what a sham that was. He looked down at her drained body and knew that he could no longer answer to name of William. It would have to be something else entirely.

* * * * * * * * *

Buffy was crouched tensely on the crypt floor, her eyes never leaving Spike’s face. The blood from his head was pouring more quickly now, but it still looked like the drops in an IV tube. She had no way of knowing if he was getting worse; but for the blood and the constant flutter of his eyelashes, he looked like he was in a state of suspended animation. She had to stop looking at the blood. She looked instead at his eyes. Between flickers of his lashes, she could see them, dark blue, shining steadily. The lashes themselves were long and thick, nearly coal-black. Their movements reminded her of butterfly wings, light and rapid. She couldn’t have said which was the most beautiful: his eyes when closed, the dark lashes vivid against his pale skin; his eyes when open, the color of storm; or even the delicate movement of his trance-blinking. Spike had always had – and used – those electric eyes. He had a habit of not meeting her eyes until the words he was speaking were the ones he really believed; he couldn’t quite look at her straight when he was being hurtful, or less than completely honest. And the way he did it – meeting her eyes, dropping his own, and then looking up again – always left her a little breathless. That blink made him seem vulnerable, almost human. //Oh, give it up, Buff// she scolded herself, //one involuntary response does not a human make. He doesn’t breathe, his heart doesn’t beat, he can’t be out in the sun, and he drinks blood. He’s not human! He’s beautiful, but he’s not human. Besides, all vampires blink, don’t they?// She summoned Angel to mind, fully anticipating the return of happy memories, but instead all she saw was his face, still and melancholy. He was watching her without blinking, and while she used to see that as romantic brooding over their doomed love, now it only became indicative of his inhumanity. //This is insane! So now what – does this mean Spike is better, or closer to human, than Angel – just because he blinks? What the hell kind of sense does that make?!?// She sighed and stood up, flexing her leg muscles to keep them from locking up. She took a step nearer to Spike, and stopped as she heard his voice: " . . . my beloved . . ."

* * * * * * * * *

Buffy took another step towards him. Was he calling to her? He’d sworn that he loved her, and then proved it by holding off Glory. It was only when she kissed him that she had allowed herself to believe that he had been telling the truth. His love for her was real. But that didn’t mean she had to love him back. When she heard the weak whisper, she began to relax, thinking he was well enough to sense her presence. As she started forward, however, another short gasp escaped him. "Dru . . ." Buffy stopped in shock – was *that* his beloved? How could that be – hadn’t he gotten over her? //Am I just the consolation prize? Or worse – tit for tat? If Angel took Dru, Spike’s best revenge would be having me . . .// Betrayed, she sank into the recesses of her mind, shielding herself from the implications of his words, until a loud -plink!- told her he had lost another drop of blood. She was not going to lose him. //Whatever he is – friend, ally, lover – he’s the best one I have. I will save him.// Just as Spike muttered ". . . Amelia . . ." Willow burst into the crypt and plowed straight into the slayer.

* * * * * * * * *

"Buffy! What’s happening to him? What can we do? What’s –" "I don’t know," Buffy replied, her voice sounding unusually loud and sharp with fear. "Giles and the crew are doing research, and I’ve just been sitting with him, watching him bleed." Willow suddenly noticed the size of the red puddle in front of Spike. "Oh, goddess . . ." she breathed, dropping the portfolio she was carrying, sending computer printouts skidding across the cold stone floor. "Wil, what are all of these – why do you have x-rays and medical charts in here?" Buffy asked, surprised by the contents of her friend’s satchel. "Well, I have good news – did Giles tell you? I was finally able to hack into the Initiative’s records on vampires, and I found all sorts of stuff! I didn’t want to stay online while I read it all, so I just decrypted, printed, and brought them over. I thought we could look through it together . . ." she trailed off as she realized she had lost her friend’s attention; Buffy was watching Spike, and a tear escaped her just as another red drop fell from him. "Buffy, maybe there’s something here that can help us help Spike," Willow said gently. "All we can do for him right now is watch over him, and we can do that while we read. Okay?" Buffy nodded, and the two friends sat on the floor, a large stack of papers directly between them.

* * * * * * * * *

Tara looked up, startled, as she sensed Willow calling out for her. It wasn’t a frantic cry for help, rather just a gentle plea to join her lover, to offer her aid. She stood, blushing as Giles, Xander, Anya, and Dawn all stared up at her. "I have to go," she said softly, trying to duck behind the curtain of her hair. "Willow needs me. She thinks I can help." She shrugged into her jacket, still looking down. Giles approached her, handing her a cell phone. "Call, please, if you discover anything, or need us." She mumbled something shyly, and walked into the crypt minutes later. She sat beside Willow, slipping an arm around her waist, and reached for an x-ray just as Spike said ". . . Chinese . . ."

* * * * * * * * *

[China, 1900] Spike was fighting the Slayer. The moment he’d engaged her in combat, something had finally felt gloriously right. He didn’t need to drink from her to know her feelings – she was so alive that they burst from her every movement, her every breath. She was taking on the world, and he sensed it, thinking back to his mother’s words. //This one certainly had largeness of spirit, but . . .// He faltered, sensing something else in her, and she took advantage of his hesitation, bringing her sword down in a slash that sliced his eyebrow. //She’s miserable! Cor, this bloody beautiful girl is fighting to save a world she thinks she’s not part of. She wants to die.// Spike stopped again, and as she swooped in to take advantage of his second pause, he maneuvered around and finally bit into her neck. He held her for a moment, still reading her spirit even though she was dead. And for a second, he felt love, hers for the next Slayer, and even his own for her. She had strength, goodness, and beauty, and he loved her for it; she hadn’t known how to live without love, hadn’t wanted to, and he had killed her. He lapped up her blood, tasting its sullen fire, and suddenly he knew that heat was what he’d been looking for.

* * * * * * * * *

"He must be thinking about Slayers. The first one he killed was Chinese. It happened during the Boxer Rebellion . . ." Buffy babbled, wanting to hear some sound in the crypt besides the witches’ shuffling of papers and Spike’s cryptic mutterings. "Shh, Buff, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Come help us," Willow spoke softly. Buffy’s shoulders slumped and she walked back to the witches, sitting across from them. She reached for a printout but could make nothing of the densely printed text that ran across the page. Her hand trembled a bit as she dropped that sheet and reached for another. It was an x-ray of a chest. Buffy saw ribs, sternum, spine, and heart on the sheet labeled "Hostile 8." //Wait – heart? Shouldn’t the heart just show up as a vague shadow? Why is it as clear as the ribs in this x-ray?// "Guys," Buffy whispered, as she held the sheet in front of the witches, "what do you think?" "I don’t know," began Willow, and Tara continued, "Maybe it’s a weird anomaly. Or something was done to the image. Or we’re not reading it properly." Buffy began hunting through the sheaf of papers to find more x-ray printouts. Soon she held all eighteen in her hand. "They’re all like that," she exclaimed, flipping through the pictures quickly. "Except . . . for this one . . . Spike’s." Her mouth felt dry and she felt a little dizzy just sitting there on the floor. Tara’s voice stopped her from falling into a complete panic. "How do you know that’s Spike?" "Because Riley told me that Spike was ‘Hostile 17,’" she responded, pointing to the words at the top of the sheet as she lay the paper down so that all three could see it clearly. The x-ray showed bone, a few of the ribs cracked but healed, but only the shadowy outline of his heart.

* * * * * * * * *

Willow was on the phone in seconds, dialing the Magic Box, holding her breath until the Watcher answered the phone. "Giles! Have you found anything? No? Okay, we may have a place to start. When someone is vamped, what happens to his heart? Besides the no-more-beating thing. Can you find out? And can you put Xander on, please? . . . Xan! Listen, do you remember exactly what Spike looked like when you and Giles brought him here after, um, after the whole Glory thing? Please, I need you to remember. Didn’t you say his chest was torn open? What did you see? Did you see his heart?" Willow took a deep breath, listening as her friend described what he’d seen – a dark pink mass of muscle full of blood, looking normal but for its utter stillness. She finally disconnected the phone and headed straight for the pile of papers, a theory humming in her brain. She found the set she was looking for, and leafed carefully through the papers. These were the results of monitoring the involuntary actions of each of the eighteen so-called "Hostiles." Spike’s numbers were much higher than the rest. He took breaths although he didn’t need oxygen, he blinked even when there was nothing in his eyes. And his heart . . . Willow frowned, knowing she was close to the answer but couldn’t quite reach it.

When she saw Willow frown, Buffy lost hope. She interrupted her friend’s thoughts harshly. "What good are these sheets going to do us? These tests were conducted and these x-rays taken months ago! He’s bleeding out of his head NOW – and we still don’t know who’s behind this spell!" Tare looked up sharply. "What spell? There’s no spell at work here. I can sense them, and I promise you there is no magic acting on him." Willow stopped mumbling to herself and said authoritatively, "Buffy, come here and lay him down. Honey, you come too." Buffy eyed the witch and started to ease Spike into a fully reclining position; it took some time as his joints were locked, and all the while he was losing blood. As soon as he was on his back, completely stretched out, he murmured, " . . . Hot . . ."

* * * * * * * * *

[New York, 1977] The Slayer was poised above him as he lay flat on his back, death in her eyes as they grappled fiercely. They had the subway car to themselves, and they used every inch of its space even as they forged makeshift weapons. Spike was exhilarated. //This girl might be the one. She’s got spirit, she’s got stamina, . . . she’s got a death wish.// His smile faded as her true emotions became clear to him. //She thinks she’s a misfit. She thinks she’s replaceable.// He wanted to offer her a moment of peace, tell her the truth – //You’re not replaceable, luv, and if that’s what the bloody Council’s been telling you, then the sodding wankers ought to be shot. No one else – not even another Slayer – will be beautiful or brave in exactly the same way as you. All of this ‘Chosen One’ lineage crap is bollocks. Each Slayer is different. There won’t be another one like you// – but she came at him, her eyes pleading with him to end this. How could she know she was facing the one vampire able – and eager – to read emotions, the one who would honor her choice? He broke her neck and she lay still, her spirit sending forth a blessing to the next Slayer. //When will I find what I want? When will I find my beloved?// Spike wondered to himself. //Which Slayer will it be?//

* * * * * * * * *

Spike’s low growl, " . . . Hot . . ." set Buffy’s cheeks aflame. She still couldn’t believe how cruel she’d been to him after hearing his stories of killing the two Slayers, crushing him under her heel. She still couldn’t believe how much love was in his heart, taking on her pain the moment he saw her tears, relegating his own anguish to the "unimportant" pile. She stopped short, cutting off her train of thought abruptly. She did not want to think about Spike and love right now. All she wanted at this moment was a healthy Spike. So why was she leaving all the work to her friends?

She saw Tara and Willow, standing on opposite sides of Spike, move their hands so that their fingertips barely brushed and their palms hovered over his heart. Buffy watched them closely, and realized that Willow was only providing strength and support; it was Tara who was performing the spell. Minute shudders passed rhythmically through Tara’s body, matching the timing of Spike’s dripping blood, but she held on tightly to her control, willing Spike’s heart to unfold before her inward eye. She gasped when she saw his heart wasn’t still. It wasn’t pumping either; it was more like it was leaking. Each drop of blood that appeared on his forehead came from his heart, and there weren’t many drops left in his now nearly-hollow heart.

Tara made the sign that shifted the spell-power from herself and turned her palms upward. She felt Willow take control, and the two witches moved until their hands, palms down once more, hovered over Spike’s forehead. Willow closed her eyes and saw the inside of Spike’s skull. There was the chip – but it was shooting out tiny blue bolts of lightning, each of which seemed to draw another drop of blood out of his rapidly emptying heart and push it through his forehead. The witches’ eyes met, and they broke the spell, conferring with each other silently. As one, they turned to Buffy, who swallowed hard before she could ask, "What is it?"

* * * * * * * * *

Dawn broke into the crypt at a run. "Vamp hearts are bone!" she shouted hurriedly, rushing in case they were running out of time. "I read in one of the books that when someone becomes a vampire his heart changes from flesh to bone. Brittle bone, with not that much holding it together. That’s why they turn to dust when you stake them, Buffy – all they have is bone. But Xander says that’s not what he saw in Spike. He says he saw a normal heart." Buffy turned to Xander for confirmation. He, Anya, and Giles were all huddled together; all three nodded at her look. Willow burst in, "Well, his heart may look normal, but the chip in his head has gone haywire – and that’s probably why all the other chipped vamps are dead – and it’s draining all the blood out of his heart. We just finished the seeing spell."

Buffy felt sick. Everyone was looking at her like she would suddenly have answers for them. She didn’t. They all jumped when Spike’s upper body suddenly lunged forward, pulling him into a seated position again. Buffy peered closely at him, checking to see if his trance was over, but his eyelashes fluttered on and the bleeding continued. "Buffy . . ." he said hoarsely, and then the room went still.

* * * * * * * * *

Anya started, surprised by the tone of Spike’s voice. It wasn’t the kind of thing a vengeance demon forgot, even if she had become human. It was the tone of someone who had sacrificed everything for love and was waiting for his beloved’s response. She pushed past Xander and Giles and marched briskly to the slab on which Spike sat nearly immobile. She pressed her lips to his forehead, right at the spot where his blood slowly flowed. She no longer liked the taste of blood, but she still knew how to analyze it. "He’s thinking of love," she announced, closing her eyes in concentration. "He’s remembering every love he was ever a part of. He’s mourning. He knows how many loves he thwarted when he killed either the boy or the girl . . . or the other girl," she added, opening her eyes and looking at Tara and Willow, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. "He’s repenting for all of them now, and he’s reliving every disappointment when he thought he’d found his girl at last." She turned back to the group, looking right at Buffy. "When the last drop of blood is gone, he’ll have repented utterly. He has been trying to make up for his kills with love all along, but this bleeding will complete his act of contrition. Buffy . . . he’ll be pure when his heart is empty, but he’ll also be dead."

A harsh cry escaped Dawn’s lips, and she ran over to Spike, sobbing as she cried out to him. "Wake up! Come back! I know you’re sorry, that you’ve always been sorry – you don’t need to die to prove it! I know you love me, and I love you too, and I can’t even think that you might die on me!" Anya stood directly in front of Buffy and said softly, "I don’t know how to fix him, but I do know there’s very little time left. He doesn’t have many drops left." Buffy’s internal dam finally burst, and the ferocity of her tears made all of her friends take a step back from her.

* * * * * * * * *

The tears cleansed her brain, washing away doubt, confusion, and the lies she had told herself. She at last accepted that she loved Spike. She loved him, she needed him, and she reveled in the fact that he was offering her forever. //I want him// she thought to herself //and I want it always. And he’ll stay – that’s what he’s been trying to tell me. I don’t want to live without him, my champion, my adversary, my beloved.// Strength came rushing back into her as the truth set her free. She smiled a little as she quoted quietly, "Oh yes. He will be mine." She stepped forward and touched her sister’s shoulder blade gently.

Dawn’s arms were folded on the tomb next to Spike, supporting her forehead as she sobbed. When she felt Buffy’s caress, she slipped one arm out from underneath her head and held out her hand to Buffy. They clasped hands and smiled into each other’s eyes. "I know you love him, Dawn, and I just realized that I do too. We’re going to get him back, I promise." Dawn opened her mouth but she couldn’t speak; all that came out were post-sob hiccups and hitching breaths. "Buffy . . ." Spike moaned again suddenly, startling Dawn. She spun sharply to face him, and her free hand landed on top of his chest.

* * * * * * * * *

Seeing the triangle the two sisters and Spike made pushed Giles back into reality and unlocked his memory. He stepped forward. "Of course! If Dawn is The Key, then she can unlock not only the barriers between worlds, but the limits of the heart as well. Buffy –" he moved towards her, and she looked up at him, so much love shining in her eyes that he abandoned his misgivings and his Watcherly questions and simply told her his idea. "Anya and Willow and Tara say that his heart is close to emptying, and that there will be no more Spike when it is finally dry. Therefore, in order to save him, we must fill his heart, make sure it never fully empties. Dawn here can be the bridge by which you gain access to Spike and fill his heart. She is The Key, but more importantly, she believes in the rightness of her power to be that bridge. What do you think –"

Giles was cut off by Xander. "Wait! Now, I don’t really like Spike – actually I like him a lot more than I used to – but what about the whole redemption thing? Unless he’s empty, the repentance doesn’t count, right? Isn’t that what you said, An? Do we want to save him if he’s coming back the same as before?" Buffy’s voice cut across both Xander’s and Anya’s. "He *has* repented for everybody, Xander. He’s been mumbling their names for hours now, one per drop of blood. But now he’s on my name, and that means that he’s only got a few drops left at most, and I’m not going to let him die repenting all the things he thinks he’s done to me when I know very well that he has nothing to repent for. So now I’m going to save him." She let go of Dawn’s hand and the sisters faced each other with clear eyes. Dawn put one hand over her sister’s heart and one over Spike’s and felt her mind dissolve like a swirly mist until all that was left was the Vampire and the Slayer.

* * * * * * * * *

Spike and Buffy stood on a gently curved footbridge. She smiled shyly at him and said, "So you do know how to love." "Yes," he responded, "that was always my only skill." "It’s not a skill, Spike, it’s an art. How could you be a vampire and love so much? Why didn’t you go crazy?" "I knew I had a destiny to meet," he said simply, "and I did my best to right the balance that my kills disrupted." "So who did you love?" she asked, her throat painfully tight. "Just you," he answered, looking at her, dropping his eyes, and raising them to hers once more. //Oh, I thought I’d never see him do that again// she thought weakly. "But how is that possible? You loved Dru, you were murmuring something about the other Slayers . . ." "Buffy," he said seriously, knowing she would trust in the truth of his words, "I knew Dru was only my guide to my beloved, not the beloved herself. But you’re right, I did love her. I loved her because I had no one else to love. And that’s all I know how to do. My mother always said that I would find a girl whose greatness of spirit would fill the greatness of my heart. And when I met my first slayer, I thought she was it. She had spirit, but it was flawed. Same with the second. They both wanted out of this world because they couldn’t find their places in it. I let them out of this world, but I fell in love with both of them, with their hurting spirits. Then I met you. You were the one. You had what they had – the spirit of a fighter – but you also had the spirit of a daughter, of a friend. I read you long ago and I knew you were my beloved." "So why were you behaving like my enemy until not too long ago?" she pressed, needing to make absolutely certain. "Well, love, Mum’s bit of prophecy, nice as it sounded, didn’t come with a happy ending guarantee. And I knew that if what I felt wasn’t completely and freely reciprocated, then I’d lost the best part of my destiny; you’d be in my heart but forever out of my reach. So I played the enemy, trying to catch your attention and then win your respect. After that, we could become friends . . ." he trailed off, leaving her to finish the progression to love in her mind. "So," she asked, at once shy and daring, "did I fill your heart?" "Well, I thought so, love, but I heard the witches and Anya explain that I’m drying out. Don’t quite know what to do now." He held out his hands to her, trying to say goodbye. "No, Spike. Look at me. Look in me." Bright green eyes met dark blue ones, and they simultaneously felt glowing green energy buoying them up. They both opened their minds and hearts, and their love flowed freely. Then the greenness around Spike flickered, and Buffy could feel him slipping inexorably away.

* * * * * * * * *

""NO!" she yelled, and the green energy responded to her and pushed her higher aloft. Buffy let her mind’s eye fill with the image of Spike’s heart, and she saw the last drop of blood being pulled slowly up by the tendril of electricity shot out by the chip. She clenched down on her panic, forcing it back, and at last her love was unfettered. She poured her love, her spirit, her very self, into Spike’s heart, watching as she slowly filled it. //I love you, Spike. I’ve loved you from the moment I knew you. I wanted you since I first saw you but I loved you once I knew you. I loved the way you were with my mom, I love the way you are with my sister. I love you when it’s just us on the porch, I love you when you’re alone in your crypt. I love that you always tell me the truth, I love your charming unbelievable lies. You are my beloved, and I know// – suddenly the words were in her mind, strong and clear – //I am to my beloved as my beloved is to me.// She felt a snap, and saw that his heart was finally filled, and that there was no more pretty green light swirling around her.

* * * * * * * * *

Dawn blinked blearily a few times before it all came back to her. //Did it work? Did I stay strong for them?// She saw her sister slumped over Spike, and exhaled sharply in relief as Buffy began to stir.

Buffy’s hands were between her body and Spike’s. She began to push away from him to stand up straight when she felt it. His heart was beating underneath her own. She went rigid with shock, but then his eyelashes fluttered softly against her throat and she was lost. She moved carefully to meet his wide, dark eyes and realized she was looking at a human being.

* * * * * * * * *

A few days later, she was forced to revise that opinion. Spike wasn’t human, he was "human" in the same way she was. He had lost his vampiric face and need for blood, but he had gained the ability to live in sunlight. It made sense in a strange way; it was her life that filled him. He wasn’t the least bit disconcerted about any of it – his new Slayer-like skills; the fact that the chip which should have cost him his life was now simply inactive, sitting in a jar in Giles’s shop; even Xander’s sudden whole-hearted acceptance of him. He knew he was where he was supposed to be. He was with Buffy. He was with Dawn. He had walked in many worlds, but this was where he belonged.

* * * * * * * * *

Somewhere above, up in the ether, William’s mother sought out Buffy’s. She and Joyce talked quietly, clucking contentedly as they watched over their children, looking on as green eyes met blue time and again, renewing the love that had brought together Spirit and Heart.

(the end)


End file.
